


For bad and for worse

by UnproblematicMe



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 1992 Movie Script Aziraphale (Good Omens), 1992 Movie Script Crowley (Good Omens), Abusive Relationships, Good Omens Movie Script (1992), Hurt/Comfort, Light Smut, M/M, NOT Aziraphale/Crowley endgame, Unhealthy Relationships, hints to rape and abuse, soft Hastur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:40:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24877075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnproblematicMe/pseuds/UnproblematicMe
Summary: It was bliss.Aziraphale should have known better than to believe it would last.After stopping the end of the world together, Aziraphale hopes for a better life with Crowley.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Hastur (Good Omens), endgame Aziraphale/Hastur
Comments: 23
Kudos: 75





	For bad and for worse

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fanlan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fanlan/gifts).



> This is a commission work I wrote for the lovely Fanlan. Thank you so much for trusting me with your idea and giving me this challenge. It's really outside my usual turf and it was a lot of fun! I hope you like it!
> 
> Please read the tags everyone!

For a while it seemed Armageddon had improved things. Ironic as it was. Crowley had Hell of his back and Heaven was quiet as ever. A few precious weeks Aziraphale was genuinely happy. As he got in the car with Crowley after things had been resolved, the demon cast him a smile, an honest one of affectionate sweetness, not like the calculated ones of manipulative seductiveness he usually wielded against Aziraphale’s fragile defenses. Crowley even patted Aziraphale’s leg tenderly before starting the car, saying, “Well done, angel. You and I make a good team after all.”

Needless to say how Aziraphale’s heart swelled at that.

They had dinner that evening and a nice walk through London afterwards, Crowley’s company and charms causing a heat on Aziraphale’s cheeks and in his stomach that even the cool air of the night could not douse.

As often when chance threw them together, they ended up in Crowley’s flat after returning to London. But it was different this time. Crowley was careful and gentle as he divested Aziraphale of his clothes, considerate and tender as he touched his body and sweet and slow as he moved inside the angel. The next morning he handed Aziraphale a key to his home.

It was bliss.

Aziraphale should have known better than to believe it would last. Part of him did know, but he did not listen. He pretended not to notice how the gentle touches became tight and possessive again. He ignored how the softness in Crowley’s voice faded with time, in the end leaving nothing but the old sarcastic coldness. He turned a blind eye to Crowley’s gaze wandering over the bodies of attractive strangers and did not question the demon when he came home late. He said nothing when he smelled an unfamiliar perfume on Crowley, bit his lip when the demon was too rough in the night and apologized for mistakes he did not make to appease Crowley when the demon snapped at him.

They lived together but aside from that it was like before the failed apocalypse. Only now there was no prospect of an end.

*

At first it was mere curiosity that had him stay. He did not really have another reason to be around. Keeping an eye on Crowley was a job given to him by Satan before the end of time that never came. But Satan’s post-apocalypse directive when it came to Crowley was “Don’t speak of this traitor unless you want me to fill your mouth with your own guts”. So even if there were news on Crowley, the boss would not want to hear them.

So Hastur could have left, lazing off until new instructions came in. But seeing Crowley get in his show-off car, together with this angel that had opposed Satan puzzled him. It was strange to see them so familiar, almost friendly, with each other, not just partners of convenience. And so Hastur followed them, unsure as to what goal.

Not that there were any goals left now that there would be no Armageddon. What to do? Where to go? The light still burnt, but the shadows had lost their mystery a long time ago. All there had been left was waiting for the apocalypse.

After so many millennia wandering in the darkness of a Fallen’s existence, only kept upright by keeping the eyes hefted to the horizon of time, crawling towards the chance to either avenge his fate or end it all, he did not even have enough willpower in him to rage against the turn of events. So maybe it was just a distraction from the complete lack of purpose that was eating him from the inside, threatening to hollow him out.

Soon Hastur found he could not turn away from the strange pair. He made camp on the flat roof above Crowley’s apartment. His powers hid him from the two supernatural beings below and from the humans. A simple tent containing some food and drink as well as a sleeping mat was quickly fabricated with a miracle. He needed neither of those things but he somehow craved the whole experience. It reminded him of simpler times, when humanity was younger and the world was quieter without the cars, computers and all the other blasted machines.

So he made himself at home and watched the unlikely couple.

In the beginning they basically clung to each other, basking in the other’s company and Hastur was fascinated. There was an odd peace to the picture, a being of Heaven walking arm in arm with a creature of Hell, an equilibrium rarely seen in the universe, like a perfectly balanced scale.

But in the weeks to follow, Hastur saw the scale tip to the angel’s disadvantage.

It started with a shift in tone. Hastur’s demonic sense of hearing did not allow him to hear the words that were spoken, but the manner in _which_ they were spoken. Crowley and Aziraphale never yelled at each other, but often Hastur would hear Crowley hissing, snapping or talking in a calm but ice-cold voice. His tone was often demanding, condescending or just outright cruel.

With time things became more obvious. Crowley leaving his home with a swing in his step, whistle on his lips and straightened shoulders. The angel that accompanied him was looking meek, wrung his hands nervously and paid more attention to the pavement than anything else while often walking with a strange limp. On the rare occasions Aziraphale was happy Crowley often stopped the angel’s joyful chatter with a roll of his eyes or a deliberately wide yawn. In addition Crowley often went out alone in the evening, the angel standing at the window staring after him with sad eyes.

Hastur did not know for sure what Crowley did when he left without Aziraphale. It had not taken him long to lose interest in the rogue demon. Hastur would grudgingly admit that Crowley was more interesting than others of his kin, but he had been watching him for a while and the novelty wore off fast. But the main reason to get off of Crowley’s tail was the fascinating angel by his side.

Aziraphale was not like any other angel he had encountered. Much less of a rules lawyer, softer, more considerate of the living things around him. In all his time on Earth and in other realms Hastur had not seen angels perform as many miracles as this one did in a few weeks. Some of them were selfish: a table in a fancy restaurant that was luckily free, a cup of tea that stayed at perfect temperature for longer than the laws of physics allowed or the angel’s favorite wine being in stock even though the shop owner swore he had forgotten to order it. That was fascinating to watch.

But the other miracles were no less unusual. Aziraphale did not use his powers to punish the faithless or hunt down the sinful, but to protect the vulnerable and help the needy. Wherever the angel went the humans around him were touched by a wave of comfort and warmth. Hastur should have been appalled by it, should have loathed the effect Aziraphale had on the world, but he was not sure that these were the feelings that slithered through his soul while watching the angel.

For a while though he told himself they were. He tried to convince himself that he hated Aziraphale as any demon should with any angel and that this was the reason to stay close by. To watch and glee while Crowley slowly but steadily sucked all hope and light out of Aziraphale.

How much that was not it, he learned after Aziraphale and Crowley had a fight on their way home one night. Crowley, not used to Aziraphale talking back, looked around and pulled the angel in a narrow side street, probably to avoid people listening in.

Hidden on a balcony above the scene, Hastur for the first time saw Aziraphale fight back so ferociously. He usually gave in very fast to Crowley’s demands, but this time he insisted on his position. After a heated exchange (again more hissing than yelling), Crowley pushed Aziraphale back, crowding him against the wall.

“You don’t seem to enjoy my company, angel,” he said with a cold smile. “Fine, I’ll be out of your hair."

With that he let go of Aziraphale and started walking away. The angel desperately grabbed the demon’s arm, trying to stop him.

“Crowley, please, can’t we talk…”

“Not in the mood, Aziraphale.” Crowley shook his head. “I’ll go back to the club. Sure, I felt like it was a boring night, but maybe that was just your aura.”

“Crowley, please,” Aziraphale repeated and after a moment of hesitation he added: “I’m sorry. I… you were right. I shouldn’t have made such a fuss about it.”

“Nope, you shouldn’t,” Crowley said coolly. “Maybe think twice about giving me lip the next time.”

The demon now ripped his arm free and turned to leave. Without looking back he left Aziraphale in the alley. The angel, visibly close to tears, fell against the wall, breathing deeply. After a while he apparently had collected himself and began his way home. It crossed Hastur’s mind that Aziraphale rarely was in this sleazy part of town and never without Crowley. He wondered how the angel would fare on his own. Not very good as it turned out.

*

Aziraphale swallowed the hot tears. It was better to get home fast and think of something to appease Crowley, even though he still believed he was in the right. He knew that Crowley was not faithful to him and most of the time he could live with it, pushing it into the back of his mind. Of course he also knew that he was not half as attractive as Crowley and understood that he could not fully satisfy the demon, but still he felt like he deserved enough respect for his lover to not go looking for other partners when Aziraphale accompanied him. Well, Crowley disagreed obviously.

Deep in thought, worrying his bottom lip, staring at the ground, he did not notice the two dark figures until it was too late. His arm was grabbed and before he could process this, his back painfully hid the cold stone of the wall.

“Will you look at that?” a broad shouldered brunette man smirked. “Crowley’s pet all on his own.”

The other man, a black haired one of similar build, tutted in mock sympathy.

“Irresponsible,” he said. “Such a sweet little thing in such a dangerous part of town.”

They both stepped very close, much too close for Aziraphale’s liking, but he tried to stay calm and friendly. Because that was what he did.

“Gentlemen,” he smiled. “I’m always delighted to meet friends of Crowley, but it has been a long day and I…”

The slap to his face was unexpected and harsh. Aziraphale was unsure who had delivered it, but it was the brunette who grabbed his wrists and slammed it hard against the wall behind him.

“Listen, slut,” he hissed. “We’re gonna have some fun now and afterwards you will deliver a message to Crowley for us.”

Aziraphale struggled against the hold, unwilling to wield his powers against the men. The black haired man finally grabbed Aziraphale’s face painfully and snarled.

“Look,” he said darkly. “If you’re good, you get to deliver the message by telling Crowley,” his hands wandered to Aziraphale’s throat. “If not, we cut out your tongue and carve the message into your skin.”

A shudder went through Aziraphale at the hate visible in the man’s face and dripping from his voice. Now he tried to use his powers,… but they failed him. He felt the familiar warmth of divine power in his fingertips, but they would not unleash.

One man still had him pinned and the other grabbed his collar. He was about to rip his clothing when a shadow from above blocked the streetlamps’ light for a second. The other men had seen it, too, but before they could react, they were grabbed from behind, pulled away from Aziraphale and thrown against the opposite wall. Like toys their bodies bounced of the stone before falling to the ground, staying there, motionless.

Between them stood a dark figure, tall, apparently male, in weird clothing. He was staring at the men for a second but then turned towards Aziraphale. The angel froze. Ash blond hair framed handsome but worn features, green scales adorned parts of his face and his eyes, black as the night, stared at Aziraphale. This man was marked by Hell. A demon.

“Why didn’t you use your power?” the stranger snapped at him.

“W… what?”

“They wanted to hurt you. Why didn’t you smite them?”

“You… know what I am?” Aziraphale asked. “Then why did you save me?”

The man opened his mouth but closed it again. Confused he stared at Aziraphale like he had just now noticed himself how weird that was. After a beat of silence black wings spread from the demon’s back and with a whooshing sound, he was gone.

Aziraphale did not tell Crowley what had happened. Not everything. Just that he had been attacked by two men that knew Crowley. He described them as best as he could even though he was sure after last night they would no longer bother him or Crowley.

He was a bit hurt that Crowley went out again without him after checking his injuries shortly. At least the demon seemed no longer angry with him. Sighing Aziraphale stepped out on the balcony to watch the Bentley drive down the road. When it had taken the turn to the main road, he still was staring.

“Why do you let him do this?” A voice sounded from behind him.

Aziraphale spun around. On the fire ladder sat the dark cladded figure of the demon that had saved him in the alley.

“Who are you?” he said, stumbling backwards. “Stay where you are!”

“Calm down, White-Wings.” the demon rolled his eyes. “I’m Hastur, Duke of Hell, and if I wanted you dead, you would be dead by now.”

Aziraphale furrowed his brows. The demon had a point. He had saved his life last night and apparently had been watching him unnoticed for a while.

“Then… what _do_ you want?”

As the question had left his lips, Hastur’s whole demeanor changed. His expression shifted and his shoulders slumped.

“No idea,” he finally grunted. “Not much to want after the non-end of time.”

“I’m not sure I follow,” Aziraphale said.

Hastur sighed and explained, “I was assigned to watch Crowley and after everything went south, nobody ever gave me a new order.”

“Hmmm,” Aziraphale hummed. Funny enough he could sympathize. After Eden had fallen, he had been told to look after Adam and Eve. That order was never retracted after their deaths so he had just freely interpreted to look after their descendants.

“So why?” the demon spoke into the silence.

“Pardon me?”

“Why do you let him treat you like this?”

“I don’t know what…”

“I’ve been watching and listening,” Hastur interrupted. “He takes you for granted and treats you like shit. And you let him. Why?”

“I… we’re a couple. We love each other.”

“I won’t claim to be an expert on love,” Hastur laughed. “But that doesn’t seem right.”

“Well, I… wait! Why do I even explain myself to you?” Aziraphale snapped. “Leave me alone.”

“Okay, I will.” Hastur shrugged and spread his wings. But he hesitated and before disappearing he said: “I’m… just saying you don’t have to take this. I think. Not that I care…”

Then he was gone, for the moment. But from now on whenever Crowley would leave Aziraphale alone at night, Hastur appeared on the balcony, offering a cigarette, at first making small talk and then asking the same question, over and over again.

_“Why do you allow this?”_

And one day Aziraphale answered.

“I really love him,“ he said. “And in way I think he loves me, too. And I… don’t want to be alone. I’m bad with people. Crowley is the only one who can stand having me around.”

Hastur broke into a laughing fit at that.

“You serious, White-Wings?” he asked disbelieving. “People adore you! I have been following you. I saw. You’re kind and sweet – disgusting by the way – and always willing to help. And it helps that you look cute.”

Blushing Aziraphale turned away.

“Seriously,” Hastur continued, a grave expression on his face. “That night when your powers did not work… I saw that happen in the past. It was rare, but I saw other angels being failed by their powers. It happens when an angel endures too much pain, watches too much horror, loses hope and finally faith.”

“What…”

“He is draining you, Aziraphale,” Hastur said. “Angels can endure a lot, but most of them have back-up from above and the grief they carry is not their own. You are alone and your pain is personal.”

Aziraphale wanted to object. Wanted to say that he was not alone, that he had Crowley. But then he turned around to peer into the empty apartment through the balcony door. Nobody was home, it was dark except for the small desk lamp Crowley had forgotten to turn off before leaving. Hastur was right. He was alone. The one person he trusted left him alone almost every night. He did not know where Crowley was, what he did and in whose arms he lay.

As he looked back at Hastur, the demon said nothing, but Aziraphale was sure, he knew what was going on the angel’s mind.

“Drink?” Hastur simply asked and when Aziraphale nodded two glasses appeared in his hand, one of which he handed over to the angel.

Even before Aziraphale took a sip, he felt warmer. It was just Whiskey, but it was also a message.

_“I’m here.”_

Aziraphale was never alone again. Whenever Crowley decided that Aziraphale was more burden than entertainment, Hastur would be there with booze and tobacco to cheer him up. One day he even invited Aziraphale to his hidden lair on the roof. After the first shock Aziraphale could not help but giggle at the absurdity that a demon could camp right over paranoid Crowley’s head.

And then one night on the roof Hastur kissed him. It was a shy soft thing, nothing demanding or rough, just a tender peck of the demon’s lips to his. Then he looked at Aziraphale somewhat guilty.

“Sorry,” he said. “I don’t know why I did this. It just…”

“…felt right?” Aziraphale finished.

“Yes.”

“Agreed.”

Aziraphale did not know where and how he found the courage, but he leant in and kissed Hastur back. Very careful. With time the kiss grew more heated but never lost its tenderness. Hastur wrapped his arms around Aziraphale, pulling him closer. The movement of their lips and tongues intensified, drawing a low moan out of Hastur.

“So,” Aziraphale asked shyly as he broke the kiss. “Is there room for two in that tent of yours?”

“If you want, there will be,” Hastur answered.

And there was.

For all his talk about hating humans Hastur must have spent some time among them, at least to partake in Earthly delights. He knew exactly how and where to touch Aziraphale.

His hands and lips explored the angel’s body so careful and reverently that only now Aziraphale realized how much he had missed out. He did not have to say a word. Hastur catalogued his reactions thoroughly. When Aziraphale swayed into a touch, more like it followed. Did he flinch away, Hastur never repeated the move.

Hastur took his time, preparing, reassuring, whispering sweet nothings until Aziraphale lost every sense of time and space. Nothing but want was left and he was ready to beg. Only Hastur did not make him beg. One husked “please” was enough for Hastur to smirk and give him what he needed. Quickly the demon re-positioned the two of them. He was careful as he entered the angel beneath him, moving slowly, every move worshipping the pliant body beneath him.

They found their climax together, sealing it with a kiss. For a while they just lay there in each other’s embrace. When dawn came, Aziraphale snuck back home. Despite the time he was still in bed before Crowley. If Crowley noticed a foreign smell on him, he did not mention it.

*

_“It’s not that easy, Hastur.”_

_“It’s very easy, Aziraphale. You tell him to fuck himself, pack your stuff and go!”_

_“He can be very persuasive.”_

_“Then don’t listen to him.”_

_“You don’t understand.”_

_“I really don’t.”_

_“Then don’t say it is easy! You don’t know!”_

_“I’m just saying…”_

_“I need to go now.”_

Hastur sat in his tent and had a cigarette. Rubbing his face with a groan he remembered the fight they had this morning. He felt bad. Of course he was still convinced of the truth in his words, but putting more pressure on Aziraphale would not help.

Outside he felt a familiar presence and his heart skipped a beat. Crouching out into the open, he saw Aziraphale standing there, the setting sun bathing him in its red light.

“Hey,” he greeted, relieved to see the angel. “Listen, I’m…”

“I’m leaving him,” Aziraphale stated.

Hastur did not know what to say. Everything in him wanted it to be “Yes! Best idea you ever had!” but he had the feeling Aziraphale might not appreciate too much enthusiasm over the end of his millennia old relationship. Besides that, it probably meant Aziraphale would go away which put a damper on his mood.

So he just asked, “What made you change your mind?”

“You,” Aziraphale said. “Well, the fight we had. You didn’t agree with me, you were angry and still… you didn’t feel the need to belittle, insult or hurt me. I had forgotten that this was possible.”

“I see,” Hastur said. “So… you’re here to say goodbye? Bloody polite angels.”

He grinned despite his glum feeling and Aziraphale returned it.

“No, actually, I would like your help,” he said. “Crowley thinks I’m bluffing and probably expects me to return soon. When he notices that I’m serious, he’ll come looking for me. I’d hide myself with a miracle, but…”

“…he might recognize your signature in the miracle.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale nodded worriedly. “He knows me very well, but your miracle to hide yourself went unnoticed for weeks, so maybe you can hide me.”

“I can.”

“Maybe make it a portable veil? Like a coat?”

“I can.”

“Maybe come with me?”

Hastur’s head snapped up in surprise, then a grin spread across his face. He stepped closer and took Aziraphale’s hands in his. He pulled the angel against his chest and pressed their foreheads together.

“I most certainly can.”

The End


End file.
